


All of Me

by benedictedcumberbatched



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe-Sherlock, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Parentlock, Sad, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictedcumberbatched/pseuds/benedictedcumberbatched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When tragedy strikes, Molly has to make a difficult decision that will change her and her family's lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/41890) by John Legend. 



> First, all characters do not belong to me, they belong to Sir A.C. Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC
> 
> This story originates from a prompt on tumblr and is set to the song, All of Me by John Legend.

\---

This [post](http://sherlolly29.tumblr.com/post/80295091135/http-findingmygoldfishmollpaper-tumblr-com-post-802943) is the one that inspired this fic.

\---

_What would I do without your smart mouth?_

_Drawing me in, and you kicking me out_

_You've got my head spinning, no kidding,I can't pin you down_

_What's going on in that beautiful mind_

_I'm on your magical mystery ride_

_And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright_

 

The side of her head itched where it had been resting against the scratchy blanket for the past, how long had it been? Her back was stiff and if she hadn’t been so set on not moving, she probably would have needed someone’s help sitting upright again. Her eyes rose to look at the clock. Counting backwards she figured she must have been laying there for a good six hours or so. Looking back down, she shifted her hand until her fingertips were resting over his. He didn’t move, nor had she expected him to, in fact she would have been very surprised if he had. The only sounds she heard were the beeps of the heart monitor, telling her that yes, he was still alive in a way, and the gentle rush of air that was helping him to breathe. Her fingers traced the long bones of his fingers, from joint to joint like a connect-the-dots drawing.

Her eyes fell upon the yellow gold band around his finger. It was still bright, but not as bright as it was usually kept. She slid her hand up his before rubbing her thumb back and forth across the cold surface. It was the best she could do for now. She knew how much he had liked keeping it clean.

“She keeps asking for you, hoping you could play pirates with her,” she said to the generally quiet room. The doctors had told her to keep holding conversations with him as there were a chance he could hear her, something she firmly believed given how beautiful his brain was. Or at least had been. The scans had showed drastic damage to the brain but she was still hopeful, even after sitting in this spot just about every day for six months. She also knew though that he would be furious with her for keeping him like this. But she wasn’t ready to let go, not yet.

A hand fell upon her shoulder and she didn’t even jump. “Come on, you need to move,” came the male voice from above her. She knew who it was without even hearing his voice. “I’ll sit with him for a bit, you should go stretch and go see Abby. She needs you.” She nodded against the fabric of the blanket, feeling his hand rest at her strained lower back and her upper arm before pushing herself into a sitting position. She breathed out for a moment as her stiff back screamed in protest of the sudden movement. She pushed the chair back before using the arm of the chair and the side of his bed to lift herself into a standing position. She reached out and grabbed his hand, lifting it up so she could brush her lips across his knuckles. “I’ll be right back,” she said quietly, lowering his hand back to the bed. Her hand fell to her swollen stomach and rubbed, silently apologizing to the life within her for sitting in such a position for so long. She felt a lighter hand grip right above her elbow and she turned and gave a sad smile to the blonde woman. “Let’s go.”

Molly Holmes allowed herself to be steered from the room, but before she left it completely, she glanced over her shoulder to the prone figure of her husband in the bed.

 

_My head's under water_

_But I'm breathing fine_

_You're crazy and I'm out of my mind_

 

“You okay?” Mary asked quietly as they entered the lift and took it down to the canteen. Molly appreciated that Mary didn’t look at her, to force to her turn and look at the sweet woman’s face because Molly couldn’t trust herself not to lose it.

“Yeah,” she replied hoarsely, fidgeting with the sleeve of her jumper. It had holes in it now, something she wore constantly, and something Abby had poked holes in as a toddler in an attempt to help her father look at fiber samples. Not that Abby knew that was what she was doing but she had been.

She was relieved when the doors opened and she spotted her daughter sitting with Greg. Her heart stopped and she suddenly felt like she was drowning. When had Abby begun to look like her father? A spitting image really. The same unruly, curly, black hair, the same piercing blue-green gaze, hell even the cupid’s bow lips were the same. The only difference was Abby’s round, youthful face, much like her mother’s.

“Mummy!”

Molly jumped and looked down at the energetic five-year-old before carefully lifting her up. “Hi sweetheart,” she murmured, kissing her cheek. “Did you have fun with Uncle Greg?”

Abby nodded, her curls bouncing. “Is Daddy awake? Can I go see him?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Daddy isn’t awake yet.” Molly looked away; she couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her daughter’s eyes.

 

_'Cause all of me_

_Loves all of you_

_Love your curves and all your edges_

_All your perfect imperfections_

_Give your all to me_

_I'll give my all to you_

_You're my end and my beginning_

_Even when I lose I'm winning_

_'Cause I give you all of me_

_And you give me all of you, oh_

 

Molly nursed a cup of coffee as she watched Abby color yet another picture to decorate her daddy’s room with. How could she even begin to explain that daddy might not wake up? She knew, that with Sherlock’s job, he was prepared should anything happen to him and had made sure to make any changes after they had had Abby and gotten married, but that didn’t make things any easier.

She missed her husband. She missed the warmth of him beside her at night, her back pressed against his chest; his hand resting on what was then a very small bump, even if he didn’t sleep. She missed waking up in the morning to the smell of burning toast and the squeals of Abby as she scolded her father for burning breakfast yet again.

She missed her phone chiming throughout the day letting her know that he was okay or if she had to pick up Abby from school. She had been worried of course that he would come to regret the mundane, ordinary person’s lifestyle and of course they had argued plenty of times, but he always found a way to make it up to her. She missed walking into the flat seeing him lying on his back as Abby jabbed him in the chest with her foam sword, a crudely made newspaper pirates hat crumpled under his head, and a black eye patch slung across his face.

She missed the feeling of him pressing her into the mattress, the way he knew every little thing that would unravel her completely, the way she loved watching him become undone and completely lose himself. But most of all, she missed the little things, the sound of his voice even if he was just talking out loud to work out a case, when he would come up behind her while she was making dinner with his arms wrapping around her waist before pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek or neck, how he would read the same stories every night to Abby because she loved the voices he would make for each character, regardless of if he found the book trivial.

“Mummy? Can we bring this to daddy?” Abby asked, drawing Molly out of her reverie. Draining her coffee, her only one for a couple days at least, she carefully got to her feet and held out her hand.

“Of course sweetheart,” she said as Abby’s little hand slipped into her own as they made their way to the lifts.

 

_How many times do I have to tell you_

_Even when you're crying you're beautiful too_

_The world is beating you down, I'm around through every mood_

_You're my downfall, you're my muse_

_My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues_

_I can't stop singing, it's ringing, in my head for you_

 

_All he could remember was the pain. It wasn’t like the last time, not even close. Last time he had worked through it, been able to deal with everything that was happening to him. This time though he hadn’t seen it coming. He should have known better, should have known it would be a trap to lure him out and away from the safety and comfort of his family, of John’s protection._

_Now he was stuck in his own mind. Oh he could hear Molly and John and Mary and sweet Abby all right, but they couldn’t hear him. They couldn’t hear his screams. This time was different. He wasn’t stuck in the dark, dirty pit of his broken heart with the representation of his insanity taunting him closer and closer to the edge. This time he could move about his mind freely._

_He wandered the halls, the doors open. Redbeard trotted along side him and he used his first friend’s soothing presence to continue on. The sound of slaps reached his ears and he paused outside a room. The inside was just like the lab at Bart’s. Almost like a home away from home for many years._

“How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? How dare you betray the love of your friends! Say you’re sorry!”

_Oh how he remembered that day well. He had never been able to pinpoint the exact day he began realizing the depths of his feelings for the quirky pathologist. But perhaps that was the day. He had truly disappointed her and he knew it. That was why, even then, he could feel his cheeks smarting from where her small hands had made such an impact._

_Redbeard barked once from the hallway and he returned._

_A gunshot rang out and out of reflex; he stopped, looking to see where it had come from. Each door held a memory, and peering into one, he slammed it shut. He didn’t want to relive that one, the one that nearly resulted in him dying alone in some foreign land. Although if it hadn’t been for that moment and the events of four minutes after, the rest of his life wouldn’t have turned out the way it had._

_A door slammed open and he watched himself stalk into the room. Molly spun around with a gasp. But if time had the capability to stand still that was the moment it did. He watched himself take her face between his hands before crushing his lips to hers. He had been reckless in that moment he remembered as he watched himself walk her back into her office before kicking her door shut. He knew full well what happened next._

_A baby’s cry echoed through his mind. “Abby…” he murmured, eager to find the little ball of energy he loved beyond all recognition. But it wasn’t Abby. He looked around confused. A cry reached his ears again._

_“Someone wanted to meet you. Scott says hello daddy,” came Molly’s voice._

_“Scott? But when…oh.”_

_A boy. He had a son and he couldn’t even see him. “He looks a bit like both of us really. But it’s still too early to say whether his eyes will stay blue or go brown.”_

_A smile spread across his face and he sank down against the wall. A son. Someone to carry on the name because God knew Mycroft never would manage it. “I’m sorry to cut this meeting short but I have to go get Abby.” Warmth radiated from the front of his mind palace and he knew she had kissed his forehead. He could hear footsteps on the floor, as they grew distant before he sank back into silence._

_The warmth drifted away._

_He grew cold._

_There was no way to distinguish time within these walls so he slowly wandered them, reliving days past because that was all he had left._

_He didn’t hear her voice again._

_Rooms began disappearing, chunks of his life gone. Redbeard no longer joined him on his walks. Light began fading from the hallways and he began to climb down the stairs._

_The dirty room beckoned him closer and closer. He hesitated outside it for some time, remembering distantly the last time he had entered the round room. Would he still be in there? Would it be some other face from the past? He pushed open the door and closed it behind him. Still the same face, wild, crazed, dirty, chained to the wall. He sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. “So this is it then.”_

_“I’m sorry it’s been so long. Things have been crazy without you. Please come back to me, to us. I need you.” The last time he heard her voice, he was sure he imagined it._

 

_My head's under water_

_But I'm breathing fine_

_You're crazy and I'm out of my mind_

_'Cause all of me_

_Loves all of you_

_Love your curves and all your edges_

_All your perfect imperfections_

_Give your all to me_

_I'll give my all to you_

_You're my end and my beginning_

_Even when I lose I'm winning_

_'Cause I give you all of me_

_And you give me all of you, oh_

 

“I’m sorry it’s been so long. Things have been crazy without you. Please come back to me, to us. I need you,” Molly murmured. It had been so long since she had sat in the chair beside the bed. She had called every day of course, hoping for an update that his condition had improved. Instead, it had deteriorated. Then she had received the call some six months after she had last been in the hospital room.

As a medical professional she knew what the doctors prognosis meant. But that didn’t mean it made it any easier for her to believe it as she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. There was nothing they could do, nothing that would make her telling her children the news. Abby would understand, she understood far more than she ever let on. But Scott would never know his father, wouldn’t even remember him. They were sitting just outside the room with John and Mary, only a few yards away, while their father…

Molly knew what she should do, what he would want her to do, but she just couldn’t. Not yet.

“I know you’re in there and I hope that you can hear me but I just want you to know that I love you, I always have and I always will. I know what you’re thinking, that I need to move on past this and live life but that isn’t what I can do right. I can live, yes, I can live and give our children the lives they need and deserve. I won’t be alone, I’ll have John and Mary and probably even Lestrade. This time it’s for real though, there’s no coming back from this in two years after the threat has been taken care of. That is why I can’t do it, not yet. There’s only so much you can do to prepare yourself for something like this, but you never think you’re going to have to actually do it. I could have never been able to prepare myself for this. I had always held out the hope that you would recover and be okay. Not perfect again, though your perfect to me no matter what or how much of a prat you’re being, but perfect enough to hear your voice again.

“I can only hope that if you can hear me, that you will forgive me for what I have to do. But I won’t do it until Abby gets the chance to say goodbye,” Molly choked out, her trembling hand holding his with her thumb rubbing along the delicate bones of his hand. Tears splattered onto their skin but Molly did nothing to stop them. She took a few minutes to allow herself this moment, the past year of emotions and stress pouring out of her as she lay her head down against his hand. What she wouldn’t give to feel his callused hands against her cheek, fingers carding through her hair, one more time.

Sitting back upright, she sniffed and steeled herself to explain to her daughter what was happening as best as she could. She got up and opened the door. “Abby, come here darling.”

Six year old Abby squirmed off John’s lap and over to her mother. She was strangely quiet, as if she already knew what was going on somehow. She sat down on the chair and lifted Abby to her lap. “Daddy’s not coming back, is he,” Abby stated. She didn’t question it. Molly closed her eyes and did her best to smooth her daughter’s dark curls.

“No, he’s not. He’s already gone. The only reason it looks like he’s sleeping and breathing is because the doctor’s are keeping him that way. But daddy is still in there somewhere, he might not be able to see or hear or respond to you, but he’s in there. And he’s always, always, in here,” she said quietly, resting her hand over where Abby’s heart was beating.

Abby just stared at the prone figure of her father for a moment. Molly knew that face well; it was one the man in the bed had used countless times before. It was one of contemplation and trying to understand what was just told. Molly watched as Abby crawled off her lap and onto the bed. She lay down on top of him, her head resting on his chest. The sight broke Molly’s heart.

“I love you, daddy.”

 

_Give me all of you_

_Cards on the table, we're both showing hearts_

_Risking it all, though it's hard_

 

She once more did not leave the chair. John and Mary had been taking care of Abby and Scott though they were grieving as well. But she couldn’t just leave him without really taking the time to consider everything. Their life together, the one she had worked so hard for, one he had worked if not harder for, taken away on that day one year ago. That he had lived, even if it was unconsciously, for a year was a miracle in itself. How many times did someone in his condition come across her slab?

“You know he would want you to. He would hate this, all of this,” came a voice from nearby.

She lifted her head, her eyes shifting over his impossible face before resting on that of John Watson. “Would probably want his brain donated to science of something,” he said gruffly.

Molly laughed a little, wiping her tears away. She hadn’t even realized she was crying again. “Is it selfish of me to leave him like this?” She already knew the answer though.

“I’m sorry, Molls. I…” John’s voice caught in his throat. Molly stood from the chair; her legs unhappy with the sudden return of blood flow as she sat on the bed beside her husband and reached out for John’s hand.

“It is not your fault. I don’t blame you at all. You know him; he’s so stubborn and set on his ways when he gets on a case. You couldn’t have known that he was walking into a trap. The only person whose fault it is, is the one who shot him,” she said forcefully.

Molly steeled herself and took a deep breath, slipping from the bed. She pulled John up from his chair and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m just sorry you’re losing him again,” she murmured against his collar.

John pulled away, pausing by the door for a moment before turning and snapping into a salute to the one who saved him more times than he could count and to the best friend he had ever had the fortune of knowing.

Molly smiled weakly as John lowered his arm and exited the room, knowing that if her husband could see John just then, he probably would have smiled, even if it were discreetly.

Then it was her turn. She wiped away tears again as she fix the blankets around him and brushed what curls she could see around the bandaging around his head into a more natural position. “I know it’s not in your nature to believe in an afterlife or whatnot but I know this isn’t good-bye. I know that some day I’ll see you again. Know that we did all we could for you and that I love you more than you could ever know,” she said her breathing shaky. She squeezed his large hand before bending forward and pressing her lips to his forehead, the curve of his cheekbones, before settling on his lips.

A single tear trailed down her cheek as she wished for one more miracle, to one last time feel the pressure of him kissing her back, but was unsurprised when none came.

She held onto his hand while the doctors and nurses began to switch off the various machines. The room is eerily quiet now as she gazes down at the world’s only consulting detective with a sad smile on her face. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his once more. She worked the gold band off his finger and slipped it onto her thumb before reaching around to the back of her neck where she undid the clasp on a gold chain. She slipped the wide band onto the chain and re-clasped it around her neck. She raised the ring to her lips. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

_'Cause all of me_

_Loves all of you_

_Love your curves and all your edges_

_All your perfect imperfections_

_Give your all to me_

_I'll give my all to you_

_You're my end and my beginning_

_Even when I lose I'm winning_

_'Cause I give you all of me_

_And you give me all of you_

_I give you all of me_

_And you give me all of you, oh_


	2. All of Me- Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand (and my own obsession) I decided to write an alternate ending to this story.

_What would I do without your smart mouth?_   
_Drawing me in, and you kicking me out_   
_You've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down_   
_What's going on in that beautiful mind_   
_I'm on your magical mystery ride_   
_And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright_

The side of her head itched where it had been resting against the scratchy blanket for the past, how long had it been? Her back was stiff and if she hadn’t been so set on not moving, she probably would have needed someone’s help sitting upright again. Her eyes rose to look at the clock. Counting backwards she figured she must have been laying there for a good six hours or so. Looking back down, she shifted her hand until her fingertips were resting over his. He didn’t move, nor had she expected him to, in fact she would have been very surprised if he had. The only sounds she heard were the beeps of the heart monitor, telling her that yes, he was still alive in a way, and the gentle rush of air that was helping him to breathe. Her fingers traced the long bones of his fingers, from joint to joint like a connect-the-dots drawing.

Her eyes fell upon the yellow gold band around his finger. It was still bright, but not as bright as it was usually kept. She slid her hand up his before rubbing her thumb back and forth across the cold surface. It was the best she could do for now. She knew how much he had liked keeping it clean.

“She keeps asking for you, hoping you could play pirates with her,” she said to the generally quiet room. The doctors had told her to keep holding conversations with him as there were a chance he could hear her, something she firmly believed given how beautiful his brain was. Or at least had been. The scans had showed drastic damage to the brain but she was still hopeful, even after sitting in this spot just about every day for six months. She also knew though that he would be furious with her for keeping him like this. But she wasn’t ready to let go, not yet.

A hand fell upon her shoulder and she didn’t even jump. “Come on, you need to move,” came the male voice from above her. She knew who it was without even hearing his voice. “I’ll sit with him for a bit, you should go stretch and go see Abby. She needs you.” She nodded against the fabric of the blanket, feeling his hand rest at her strained lower back and her upper arm before pushing herself into a sitting position. She breathed out for a moment as her stiff back screamed in protest of the sudden movement. She pushed the chair back before using the arm of the chair and the side of his bed to lift herself into a standing position. She reached out and grabbed his hand, lifting it up so she could brush her lips across his knuckles. “I’ll be right back,” she said quietly, lowering his hand back to the bed. Her hand fell to her swollen stomach and rubbed, silently apologizing to the life within her for sitting in such a position for so long. She felt a lighter hand grip right above her elbow and she turned and gave a sad smile to the blonde woman. “Let’s go.”

Molly Holmes allowed herself to be steered from the room, but before she left it completely, she glanced over her shoulder to the prone figure of her husband in the bed.

_My head's under water_   
_But I'm breathing fine_   
_You're crazy and I'm out of my mind_

“You okay?” Mary asked quietly as they entered the lift and took it down to the canteen. Molly appreciated that Mary didn’t look at her, to force to her turn and look at the sweet woman’s face because Molly couldn’t trust herself not to lose it.

“Yeah,” she replied hoarsely, fidgeting with the sleeve of her jumper. It had holes in it now, something she wore constantly, and something Abby had poked holes in as a toddler in an attempt to help her father look at fiber samples. Not that Abby knew that was what she was doing but she had been.

She was relieved when the doors opened and she spotted her daughter sitting with Greg. Her heart stopped and she suddenly felt like she was drowning. When had Abby begun to look like her father? A spitting image really. The same unruly, curly, black hair, the same piercing blue-green gaze, hell even the cupid’s bow lips were the same. The only difference was Abby’s round, youthful face, much like her mother’s.

“Mummy!”

Molly jumped and looked down at the energetic five-year-old before carefully lifting her up. “Hi sweetheart,” she murmured, kissing her cheek. “Did you have fun with Uncle Greg?”

Abby nodded, her curls bouncing. “Is Daddy awake? Can I go see him?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Daddy isn’t awake yet.” Molly looked away; she couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her daughter’s eyes.

_'Cause all of me_   
_Loves all of you_   
_Love your curves and all your edges_   
_All your perfect imperfections_   
_Give your all to me_   
_I'll give my all to you_   
_You're my end and my beginning_   
_Even when I lose I'm winning_   
_'Cause I give you all of me_   
_And you give me all of you, oh_

Molly nursed a cup of coffee as she watched Abby color yet another picture to decorate her daddy’s room with. How could she even begin to explain that daddy might not wake up? She knew, that with Sherlock’s job, he was prepared should anything happen to him and had made sure to make any changes after they had had Abby and gotten married, but that didn’t make things any easier.

She missed her husband. She missed the warmth of him beside her at night, her back pressed against his chest; his hand resting on what was then a very small bump, even if he didn’t sleep. She missed waking up in the morning to the smell of burning toast and the squeals of Abby as she scolded her father for burning breakfast yet again.

She missed her phone chiming throughout the day letting her know that he was okay or if she had to pick up Abby from school. She had been worried of course that he would come to regret the mundane, ordinary person’s lifestyle and of course they had argued plenty of times, but he always found a way to make it up to her. She missed walking into the flat seeing him lying on his back as Abby jabbed him in the chest with her foam sword, a crudely made newspaper pirates hat crumpled under his head, and a black eye patch slung across his face.

She missed the feeling of him pressing her into the mattress, the way he knew every little thing that would unravel her completely, the way she loved watching him become undone and completely lose himself. But most of all, she missed the little things, the sound of his voice even if he was just talking out loud to work out a case, when he would come up behind her while she was making dinner with his arms wrapping around her waist before pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek or neck, how he would read the same stories every night to Abby because she loved the voices he would make for each character, regardless of if he found the book trivial.

“Mummy? Can we bring this to daddy?” Abby asked, drawing Molly out of her reverie. Draining her coffee, her only one for a couple days at least, she carefully got to her feet and held out her hand.

“Of course sweetheart,” she said as Abby’s little hand slipped into her own as they made their way to the lifts.

_How many times do I have to tell you_   
_Even when you're crying you're beautiful too_   
_The world is beating you down, I'm around through every mood_   
_You're my downfall, you're my muse_   
_My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues_   
_I can't stop singing, it's ringing, in my head for you_

_All he could remember was the pain. It wasn’t like the last time, not even close. Last time he had worked through it, been able to deal with everything that was happening to him. This time though he hadn’t seen it coming. He should have known better, should have known it would be a trap to lure him out and away from the safety and comfort of his family, of John’s protection._

_Now he was stuck in his own mind. Oh he could hear Molly and John and Mary and sweet Abby all right, but they couldn’t hear him. They couldn’t hear his screams._   
_This time was different. He wasn’t stuck in the dark, dirty pit of his broken heart with the representation of his insanity taunting him closer and closer to the edge._   
_This time he could move about his mind freely._

_He wandered the halls, the doors open. Redbeard trotted along side him and he used his first friend’s soothing presence to continue on. The sound of slaps reached his ears and he paused outside a room. The inside was just like the lab at Bart’s. Almost like a home away from home for many years._

“How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? How dare you betray the love of your friends! Say you’re sorry!”

_Oh how he remembered that day well. He had never been able to pinpoint the exact day he began realizing the depths of his feelings for the quirky pathologist. But perhaps that was the day. He had truly disappointed her and he knew it. That was why, even then, he could feel his cheeks smarting from where her small hands had made such an impact._

_Redbeard barked once from the hallway and he returned._

_A gunshot rang out and out of reflex; he stopped, looking to see where it had come from. Each door held a memory, and peering into one, he slammed it shut. He didn’t want to relive that one, the one that nearly resulted in him dying alone in some foreign land. Although if it hadn’t been for that moment and the events of four minutes after, the rest of his life wouldn’t have turned out the way it had._

_A door slammed open and he watched himself stalk into the room. Molly spun around with a gasp. But if time had the capability to stand still that was the moment it did. He watched himself take her face between his hands before crushing his lips to hers. He had been reckless in that moment he remembered as he watched himself walk her back into her office before kicking her door shut. He knew full well what happened next._

_A baby’s cry echoed through his mind. “Abby…” he murmured, eager to find the little ball of energy he loved beyond all recognition. But it wasn’t Abby. He looked around confused. A cry reached his ears again._

_“Someone wanted to meet you. Scott says hello daddy,” came Molly’s voice._

_“Scott? But when…oh.”_

_A boy. He had a son and he couldn’t even see him. “He looks a bit like both of us really. But it’s still too early to say whether his eyes will stay blue or go brown.”_

_A smile spread across his face and he sank down against the wall. A son. Someone to carry on the name because God knew Mycroft never would manage it. “I’m sorry to cut this meeting short but I have to go get Abby.” Warmth radiated from the front of his mind palace and he knew she had kissed his forehead. He could hear footsteps on the floor, as they grew distant before he sank back into silence._

_The warmth drifted away._

_He grew cold._

_There was no way to distinguish time within these walls so he slowly wandered them, reliving days past because that was all he had left._

_He didn’t hear her voice again._

_Rooms began disappearing, chunks of his life gone. Redbeard no longer joined him on his walks. Light began fading from the hallways and he began to climb down the stairs._

_The dirty room beckoned him closer and closer. He hesitated outside it for some time, remembering distantly the last time he had entered the round room. Would he still be in there? Would it be some other face from the past? He pushed open the door and closed it behind him. Still the same face, wild, crazed, dirty, chained to the wall. He sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. “So this is it then.”_

_“I’m sorry it’s been so long. Things have been crazy without you. Please come back to me, to us. I need you.”_

_The last time he heard her voice, he was sure he imagined it._

_My head's under water_   
_But I'm breathing fine_   
_You're crazy and I'm out of my mind_   
_'Cause all of me_   
_Loves all of you_   
_Love your curves and all your edges_   
_All your perfect imperfections_   
_Give your all to me_   
_I'll give my all to you_   
_You're my end and my beginning_   
_Even when I lose I'm winning_   
_'Cause I give you all of me_   
_And you give me all of you, oh_

“I’m sorry it’s been so long. Things have been crazy without you. Please come back to me, to us. I need you,” Molly murmured. It had been so long since she had sat in the chair beside the bed. She had called every day of course, hoping for an update that his condition had improved. While doctors informed her of some improvement, they were still cautious, but hopeful. Then she had received the call some six months after she had last been in the hospital room.

_There was light, bright and white shining into his eyes. He squinted against it, his arm drawn up in front of his face to shield it. He couldn’t understand where the light was coming from. He had been in that cell for what felt like years. He could distantly hear her voice, telling him of Abby and Scott. What he wouldn’t give to see his daughter again and to see his son for the first time. But nothing compared to see his Molly again._

_He closed his eyes as the light shined brighter and he exited the room, throwing open the door before he stared at the white tile above his head. Where was he? He looked around, something down his throat made him want to grab for it but he stopped himself, his hand squeezing around something._

A tight squeeze of her hand forced Molly awake quickly. She looked around the room, seeing Abby curled up at the foot of the bed and Scott asleep in his car seat, she was confused before her eyes fell upon her husband. At first Molly thought she was dreaming. It had been a year and yet there they were. She sat up quickly staring at the blue-green eyes that were a bit unfocused. His lips moved silently and she made soft hushing sounds. “No, don’t talk. Let me get a nurse first,” she said in disbelief, squeezing his hand before reaching across and pressing the call button.

She remained in her seat, hand tightly holding his as the nurse entered the room.

_His eyes felt heavy, he just wanted to close them again, but the fuzzy sight of Molly before him kept them open. He tried to speak but she silenced him quickly. There was further movement in the room. Who else… he gasped as the tube was slowly pulled from his throat, his free hand clawing at the blankets. He heard Molly’s voice telling him it was okay, he felt something moving at the foot of his bed. A little head poked up, her black curls a mess around her round face. She rubbed her eyes and looked up…_

“Daddy!” she cried, sliding off the bed at her mother’s insistence before hopping into Molly’s lap and hugging his arm.

“Abby, get down please. Daddy just woke up and needs his rest. Why don’t you call Uncle John and tell him the good news?” she asked, handing the six year old the mobile.

Molly watched as her husband’s gaze followed the little girl out of the room. He moved his lips again to speak but stopped as her finger pressed upon his lips. “No, get some rest. We’ll still be here when you wake up,” she said reaching down to lift the now awake Scott out of his car seat and into her lap. She watched the man’s face as he took in the sight of his son before his eyes closed with a smile on his lips. Molly looked as the door opened and Abby came back in.

“Is Daddy sleeping again?” she asked trying to climb into her mother’s lap.

Molly shifted Scott to one side before helping Abby up. “Yes, but he will wake up again.”

Molly stood up, setting Abby back at the foot of Sherlock’s bed before sitting Scott in his sister’s lap. She smoothed back the short hair on Sherlock’s head, a result of having it cut and shaved from multiple surgeries when he first arrived after the shooting. She bent over and kissed his forehead, releasing a breath she had been holding in as she did so.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes,” she whispered, kissing him again before sitting back down and taking Scott from Abby so Molly could feed her son.

_'Cause all of me_   
_Loves all of you_   
_Love your curves and all your edges_   
_All your perfect imperfections_   
_Give your all to me_   
_I'll give my all to you_   
_You're my end and my beginning_   
_Even when I lose I'm winning_   
_'Cause I give you all of me_   
_And you give me all of you_

_I give you all of me  
And you give me all of you, oh_

**Author's Note:**

> This was by far the hardest thing I have ever had to write, but I am immensely proud of it. Please leave your kudos and comments, I love receiving them!
> 
> \--  
> There is an alternate ending in the next chapter.


End file.
